called her a liar. He’d called her a disgusting liar, in fact.
The laughter around the VIP room had gotten soft, morphed into something resembling shocked mutterings, but Ryder tuned them out. He didn’t care that they were probably starting a scene. He didn’t care that his teammates were watching, likely wondering what had their normally calm and collected team captain so pissed at a woman none of them really knew.
But the anger was already brimming in Reese’s face. That temper was lethal, dangerous, and matched the one Ryder kept locked down tight through years of discipline and self-reliance. She’d begun to eradicate it on the field today. Now Reese was pulling at what remained of the thin threads holding it intact. “Don’t start that shit, Ryder…”
He stood, buttoning his jacket, an indirect dismissal he knew she wouldn’t take well. “This is not the time or place.”
“Yeah?” she answered, standing so quickly that her chair moved back, and Wilson had to catch it before it toppled to the floor. “And neither was the field this afternoon.”
“You wouldn’t back off,” he said, taking one more step than he meant that brought him nearly toe-to-toe with Reese. He breathed deep, hating that the first thing he noticed was the sweet smell of her perfume.
“I was trying to thank you, pendejo.” Eyes flashing, Reese’s cheeks were pink now, her eyes nearly black.
“Your gratitude doesn’t fucking register,” Ryder grunted, making two fists, fighting the loud voice in his head that urged him to grab her, pull her close, and shut her up with a searing kiss.
“Neither,” she started, tilting her head to the side, eyes narrowed, mouth a hard, straight line, “does your subpar leadership.”
Ryder couldn’t help himself. He reacted, grabbing her bare arm before he realized he moved at all. “Watch yourself.”
She stepped back, glancing at his grip on her arm, then back at him before she yanked out of his reach as Wilson and Pérez came behind her. “Dios, why? You gonna tell me to fuck off again?”
“That was…”
He had no excuses, none at least that made sense, and Reese knew it. She shook her head, looking disgusted and disappointed by his frown. It was a look that made Ryder feel revolted with himself, too. Part of him wanted to apologize. The reaction on the field today had been stupid. It had been weak, nothing like what his team or the fans had come to expect from him. No one but Reese could get under his skin. No one alive could make him lose his shit with a little bit of irritating nagging. Reese could, and in under a half-hour she’d done it already. Again.
He meant to speak, say something to diffuse the screaming that had now drawn the attention of everyone in VIP. He thought he noticed a few phones out and filming, their owners forgetting the promise of silence and discretion everyone agreed to when they walked past the velvet ropes. But Reese seemed done with him, with the attention, and grabbed her purse, head shaking when Wilson stood next to her, muttering something that sounded like an attempt to calm her.
“What the hell happened to you?” She didn’t expect an answer, didn’t give him a second to offer one. “You used to be a man of honor. Solid. Real. Now…this…” Reese waved a hand over him, shaking her head before she clenched her jaw and stepped away. A few steps away, she turned, voice low and lethal when she spoke. The sound of it worked up something inside Ryder he’d never expected to feel from a woman again: shame. “If you can’t be that man off the field, then you damn well better do it on it. Earn your overpaid, inflated salary, cabrón.”
Her retreat left him cold, like all the sunlight had been siphoned from the world. He felt exactly like the prick she’d just called him. Wilson and Pérez paused, waiting, it seemed, for Ryder to explain himself, and when he didn’t, they left, trailing behind Reese with Jackson following after them. Only Hanson stayed behind, his expression guarded, his attention on the crowd and the stares they gave the quarterback.
“Man, what the hell was that shit?” Hanson asked, standing in front of Ryder to block the doorway and the flash of cameras that had converged near it.
“Nothing,” Ryder said, sounding weak to his own ears. He should have said more, explained himself, but couldn’t find the words. The Old Fitz bottle was empty now, but he still grabbed